


Revenge à deux

by Fox_In_A_Box



Series: Woods-verse AU [2]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Friends to Lovers, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, One Shot, terrible people doing terrible things, these two use murder as foreplay i swear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2020-01-06 06:33:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18382925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fox_In_A_Box/pseuds/Fox_In_A_Box
Summary: Ed and Oswald grow closer at the grand opening of the Iceberg Lounge. However, things don't go exactly as planned.[Sequel to my fic "A night in the woods".]





	Revenge à deux

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this turned up much longer than I had anticipated. Mostly because I couldn't resist giving a nod to Oswald's and Selina's vitriolic friendship, I guess. Hope you enjoy!

Leaning against the counter of his nightclub, wine glass in hand, Oswald Cobblepot gazed over his small kingdom. He had sent out invites to all the major players in Gotham, upstanding citizens and members of crime syndicates alike. Some had turned up their nose at his invitation, but many more had accepted with a great deal of enthusiasm and were now enjoying a drink at the bar, dancing under the coloured lights bathing the dancefloor and chatting absentmindedly with each other. Most of them probably just tasting the waters, waiting to see if the Penguin could keep his promise of setting up a veritable shelter for whoever wished to conduct their illicit business away from the prying eyes of the authorities.

His most ambitious project yet was proving to be an undeniable success. The opening of the Iceberg Lounge was meant to be a show of strength, an implicit reminder to anyone who challenged his position in the city's underworld of how much power lay in his hands. He couldn't remember another single day in his life when he had felt so proud of himself, proud to the point of not being able to conceal a smug grin lingering at the corner of his mouth. But still, something was amiss. Or rather _someone._ Someone he had been hoping to share the moment with, but who hadn't yet bothered to show up.

All of a sudden, he felt the light brush of something against his side. Had he been more naive, he would have dismissed it as nothing but one of his patrons stumbling through the room in their half-drunken state and bumping into him on accident. Had he been more focused on conversating with the occasional guest that approached him to congratulate, he wouldn't even have noticed. Unfortunately for the would-be thief, however, he was neither of those. With a quick movement he reached for the hand that had just tried snatching his golden watch from the pocket of his waistcoat, fingers tightening around a small wrist.

"I believe we talked about manners, Selina," he said, taking his sweet time draining his glass from the last few sips of red wine, before turning his attention towards the young girl.

In picking up the underlying threat in the Penguin’s otherwise calm and polite words, many would have started apologising profusely for the offence, many more would have dropped on their knees begging for mercy, putting forward a thousand excuses for their behaviour. Selina Kyle did no such thing.

She offered him a sarcastic smirk instead, freeing her wrist from his grasp with a twist of her arm. "You told me you'd have my head if I tried pickpocketing your guests, but I don't recall you saying anything about the host."

“So clever," Oswald snorted.

 

Selina had traded her usual leather jacket and combat boots for something more appropriate for the occasion - a sleeveless dress with black and silver details on the skirt, that allowed her to blend in the other patrons and conduct whatever mischief she had been planning completely unnoticed. As irritating as her presence was, at least he appreciated the effort.

With the same grace of the animal she took her nickname from, she leapt up and sat on the edge of the counter, letting her legs dangle down. Oswald shot her a disapproving glance, which she proceeded to ignore in favour of tasting a deep blue cocktail someone had left unfinished on the counter. She knew she could get away with that and more, all because some softer part of Oswald refused to treat a kid the same way he treated his older associates. Oh, he was a villain, a crime lord, and a murderer alright, but he had _morals_. Something he found most of his colleagues working with him in the underbelly of Gotham City lacked in some form or another. So he let her wander around his turf like a stray cat, hissing reprimands and empty threats every time he caught her red-handed but never acting up on any of them. Sometimes he even appreciated her company, when she refrained from swearing every two words and didn't try to steal his most precious possessions, but he was pretty sure that if he ever was to admit it out loud she would never let him live it down. And that wasn't something he wasn't ready to put up with just yet.

"Anyway, I'm here to talk business."

He arched one eyebrow in surprise. "Are you? On Miss Kean's behalf?"

"Yeah. She says she's sorry she couldn't come tonight and she wants me to ask you for your blessing for the opening of her new business."

"Which would be?"

"Weapons, from what I've gathered," Selina said, shrugging as if she wasn't interested in any of that. "She thinks your club would be the perfect place to start looking for clients."

"Very well," Oswald said, setting down his now-empty glass. "You can tell Miss Kean she's welcome to set up her trade here. I purposefully intended the Iceberg Lounge to be a safe haven for the kind of clientele she'd be interested in. But I will, of course, need a demonstration of her goodwill. Let's say...ten percent on the profits?"

The girl let out a laugh, prompting an exasperated sigh from Oswald.

"What? What's so funny?"

"She knew you'd say that," Selina explained, her lips still curled into an amused smile. "And she said to tell you to fuck off."

Oswald narrowed his eyes. "I beg you pardon?"

He uttered, stressing his disbelief in every syllable. He and Barbara Kean had never been on the best of terms, often finding themselves at opposing sides of this or that turf war, but sending a kid to bargain on her behalf and, to top it off, to disrespect him so blatantly the very night of the inauguration of his new club was too much even for her.

"Hey, no need to ruffle your feathers! I'm just a messenger, ok?"

Then she said something else that Oswald couldn't quite grasp. Not because of the music, or the loud voices of the dozens of men and women crowding the Lounge, but because his attention was swayed elsewhere, caught by something else entirely. Namely, by the tall gentleman in a dark green suit who had just walked through the door. Oswald saw him look around, visibly out of his depths in a room full of so many different people. He wasn't surprised; he remembered all too well that odd mixture of embarrassment and eagerness from the night they had met in the woods, months before, a peculiar demeanour that, in spite of himself, he had found more endearing than annoying.

"Hey? Earth to feathery asshole?"

Somehow, Selina's voice managed to reach him through the cacophony of music and voices overlapping one another. He turned to her briefly, then reached for his cane.

"I'm afraid we'll have to continue our bargain later," he told her. "There's someone I need to talk to. Now, if you'll excuse me..."

He heard her make a sarcastic remark behind his back - something along the lines of how rude he had been for someone so obsessed with manners - but he couldn't bring himself to care. He made his way across the dancefloor as quickly as he could, leaning against his cane for support and straightening his tie with the other hand. How silly he was! Fussing over his clothes for a man he had met once, and not under the most pleasant of circumstances. And yet, seeing him in his club the night of the grand opening made him happier than he had any right to be.

"Ed Nygma," he called out once he got close enough, raising his voice above the low beat of the music. "Just the man I was hoping to see!"

Ed turned around, startled. Oswald saw surprise in his eyes, swiftly replaced by recognition and finally by relief as they settled on him. He offered him a bright smile, which prompted something warm and pleasant to start coiling in Oswald's chest. In his mind, he cursed himself for the second time in the span of a couple of minutes.

"I apologise for being late, I had some, uh, stuff I needed to sort out."

Oswald offered him a reassuring smile in return. "Will the Riddler make headlines again, tomorrow?"

Ed chuckled. "One can only hope."

Oswald noticed a contradiction in his body language. He looked like he was striving to maintain an air of mystery around himself, but at the same time like it would only take one word to have him slip and reveal everything he was holding back. He decided to let him keep his secrets, for the time being, making a mental note to send Gabe to buy the newspaper first thing in the morning.

"Let me offer you a drink," he said. Not a request, a statement. Realising it was probably an offer he couldn't refuse, Ed followed him through the dancing crowd and back to the bar. They sat together, close enough to be able to hear each other without straining their voices.

Ed took off his hat, resting it on the counter. It was then that Oswald noticed he was wearing a hat, in the first place. A bowler hat to be more precise, very similar to the one he himself had worn that fateful night. He blinked, not knowing what to make of it. Well, they did say imitation was the sincerest form of flattery, and during their previous and only encounter Ed had made it abundantly clear how much he looked up at him, as if he was some sort of mentor to his unsavoury activities.

"I must admit I'm not a fan of this kind of things," Ed said, running a hand through his dark hair in a small, nervous gesture. "Nightclubs, I mean. Drinking, dancing around, chatting with strangers. It has never been my strong suit."

"Nor mine," Oswald confessed. "It's all an act, you see? Learn what people want, which in this case is alcohol, some music and a place to secure their dirty business away from the eyes of the GCPD, and give it to them. The secret is always knowing what your audience wants. But I'm sure a performer like you knows everything about it."

 

Ed nodded enthusiastically, as if he was clinging to his every word. Oswald's chest only got warmer.

"What can I offer you?"

"A Grasshopper?"

He gave a brief nod, turning his head slightly to address the young waitress at the other side of the counter. "A Grasshopper for my friend, if you please. And another glass of red for me, while you're at it."

The bartender jumped into action at his command, busying herself with the preparation of the drinks. Oswald was free to move his attention back to the other man.

"I've been following your progress with interest, recently," he told him. "I must admit, I didn't expect the nervous young man who had stabbed a colleague ten times to keep him away from his girlfriend to become such a sensation. My fault for underestimating you, I suppose. I found some of your most recent exploits to be quite astonishing, really, I can't help but be amazed every time I open the newspaper."

He hadn't even finished speaking, that Ed had already puffed out his chest, the tentative smile that had lingered on his lips during their small talk turning into a proper grin. Oswald found himself smiling in return without even realising it.

"I followed your advice," Ed said. "I went back home and spent days thinking about it, about what I had done. The more I revisited my memories of the night I killed Dougherty, the more alive I felt! More than that - I felt like a switch had been flipped and that I could do so much better, now. I like to think I was right. Every time it's as exciting and thrilling as the first time, it's...absolutely fascinating."

"Fascinating indeed..." Oswald murmured, more to himself than to the other man. He took a sip from his glass and Ed mimicked him, taking a sip of his own bright-green beverage.

"What about your beloved...Kristen, was it?"

He knew he had made a false step from the way Ed's face scrunched up at the mere mention of her. Before Oswald could rush to apologise for his lack of tact, he said: "Well, uh. Let's just say things didn't work out as I expected them to."

Oswald found himself not knowing for sure what he wanted to feel; sympathy for his dear friend's sorrow on one side, and on the other that treacherous sense of selfish delight in hearing that that Kristen girl hadn't been capable of coming to terms with the real Ed lying beneath the surface. While he had never met her in person, he had grown somewhat convinced that she would never understand him and accept him for who he truly was. Unlike him, of course. He willed himself to set aside his curiosity and opted for refraining from inquiring further. After all, last thing he wanted was his treasured guest being left to wallow in all sorts of unpleasant memories when he should have been having fun instead.

"If you're still up for taking my advice," Oswald said. "I'd advise you not to linger too much on it. Not everyone can comprehend the true genius, Ed."

Relief washed over him, as the shadow of a grin reappeared at the corner of his mouth. For a single moment, he thought he had seen the start of a blush creeping up on his cheeks. Then again, it could have very well been the reddish hue of the neon lights that illuminated the dancefloor a few feet from them.

"You're too kind," he sighed. "You say I’m a genius but it is you who have become the closest thing Gotham has to a king. I can't compare my small achievements to yours."

 

Oswald clicked his tongue. "Always the flatterer."

"I only speak what many people fear, what rips apart people's hearts without a warning and can never, ever be stopped."

"The truth?"

Ed didn't answer. His grin got even broader.

They chatted on, like old friends. Like they had known each other for a lifetime, instead of having met only once, with two dead bodies at their feet they desperately needed to get rid of. Oswald caught himself laughing whole-heartedly more than once at the other man's antics. Talking to him felt natural - no, it felt _good_. Ed had changed, Oswald could tell as much. The over-excited riddle lover was still there, but someone else lurked beneath the cheerful, awkward façade. He saw him in how his eyes glimmered behind the lenses of his glasses every time he talked about his future plans, in the way his back stood a little straighter and the way he had stated addressing him not like some sort of god descended from the skies to bless him with knowledge, but like a peer, a friend he could confess his darkest fantasies to and receive encouraging words in return. At some point, Oswald insisted for leading him into a tour of the building, to which Ed enthusiastically agreed.

"I'm disappointed," he sighed, once they had completed their tour and found an empty booth to continue their conversation.

Ed looked at him, puzzled. "And why is that?"

"Just as I was starting to consider accepting your offer to become your mentor, I realise I have very little left to teach you."

It was Ed's turn to laugh. "I don't believe it for a second. This is your world, Oswald, and I'm still new to its secrets. You know everything about the unspoken rules that regulate order and chaos in the underworld. Just take a look around. This is all yours. Maybe one day I'll be in the position to aspire to become as powerful as you are now but, in the meantime, I would be honoured if you accepted to be my guide."

Had it been anyone else, Oswald would have scoffed at words so clearly chosen to stroke his ego. But Ed was no ordinary man, and the look he was giving him didn't leave much space for doubting his sincerity. He felt moved by his speech enough to forget all boundaries, bold enough to reach out and rest hand on his shoulder. Ed looked surprised by the sudden contact and Oswald feared for a few terrible seconds that he would flinch and move away in embarrassment, but he didn't.

"If this is what you wish, my friend. I want you to know that you can always find a safe place for you, here at the Lounge. If you ever find yourself in trouble, don't even hesitate to come looking for me."

A full range of emotions ran through the other man's features. Happiness, gratitude and what he could only hope was a hint of fondness.

"Thank you," he just said.

Oswald gave his shoulder a little squeeze before letting go.

Alas, sometimes fate has a dreadful sense of humour.

Ed had hardly finished manifesting his gratitude, when a deafening series of gunshots echoed through the air. There was one long, terrifying moment of silence in which all voices died down and music stopped playing in the background. Then the screams began.

 

Oswald jumped up from his seat, biting back a hiss of pain when his bad leg protested at the sudden movement.

"Os--" Wide eyed and confused, Ed stood up too and tried reaching for him.

"Go find cover," he urged him, then louder in response to his hesitation. "NOW!"

He only had the time to see him disappearing in the midst of the panicking crowd before he had to move his attention towards more urgent matters. Anger and despair clashed in his chest at the mere though that someone of his guest had had the audacity to make an attempt at his life, at the life _of his guests_ after all he had done to ensure the people living in his territory where thriving.

All around him, it was a whirlwind of bullets. Victor and his henchwomen had already lunged forwards, firearms drawn and ready to suppress whoever had dared bring war into his club. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a flash of Selina ducking out of the way of a man twice as big as her, then bolting for one of the shattered windows before he could get another chance at taking a shot at her.

Whatever small relief he had felt knowing that she had most likely made it to safety, was immediately stripped from him when an arm was circled around his throat and he was forced to stumble back, gasping for air. Something cold was pressed against his temple, something it didn't take him long to recognise as a gun. He scrambled until he was able to clutch his fingers around the handle of the knife securely hidden inside of his cane, draw it and dig the blade in the man's thigh with all the strength he had. Caught by surprise, his assailant let out a pained shriek, releasing his hold from his neck. It was going to be his last, fatal mistake, as Oswald was finally free to turn around and deliver a slice across his throat. He went down with a gurgling sound, blood pouring from the wound in his neck. Oswald took a step back to avoid getting his shoes dirty.

He discarded the knife and picked up the man's gun, eyes darting over the crowd to find a target. He pointed the gun, pulled the trigger, shot them down one by one. Two, three, six, until he lost count. It was over as fast as it had begun. The few remaining shooters were soon cornered and taken care of - their bodies lay among the ones of a good dozen of patrons who had been too slow to flee when they had opened fire. Poetic justice, maybe, but not enough to make up for what they had done, at least as far as Oswald was concerned.

Broken glass littered the floor, where wine mixed with blood running from the fresh wounds of the dead. Outside, he could hear only the agitated voices of the survivors who had managed to escape the carnage.

Shaking with barely-contained fury, Oswald let his eyes pan over what until a couple of minutes before was his kingdom. Oh, windows and tables and lights could be fixed. Hell, he could buy new ones with all the money he had saved from his business. It was his reputation that was going to suffer, maybe fatally wounded by a group of armed thugs who had somehow been able to elude surveillance and strike his empire at the core. Scenes of vengeance, slow and painful and all kinds of dreadful fates he should have inflicted them instead of just shooting them dead danced before his eyes.

"We know who did it."

Oswald jumped at the sound of Zsasz' voice, instinctively pointing the gun towards him. The assassin raised both hands in a mocking gesture of surrender.

"Relax, boss, it's just me."

Oswald lowered the weapon with a sigh.

"He got away, but one of my girls recognised him," he went on. "He leads a gang based at the border of our turf...well, used to, anyway. Goes by the name of--"

"I don't care who he is!" Oswald snapped. "I want him found, right now!"

The assassin mumbled a 'yessir' and disappeared out of the main entrance with his girls in tow.

Oswald let the gun drop on the floor, then limped forwards as gracefully as he could without the aid of his cane. The effort was made even more difficult by the the bodies, belonging to his patrons and his enemies alike, that lay limp on the once-polished floor. It was then that another thought occurred to him, somehow even more distressing than the fate that had befallen on his club. His eyes darted around to look for the closest of his men, which happened to be a rather shaken, but otherwise unscathed Butch.

"Where is Ed?"

The man looked at him quizzically. "Who?"

"Tall man with glasses, green suit. Where is he?"

Butch just shrugged. "I don't know. Honestly, I have more important things to do other than pay attention to what your guests are wearing. If he's alive, he's probably out there with the others."

Blind worry overpowered any other feeling, to the point that Oswald didn't even bother with reprimanding him for his irreverence. No, he had to keep looking for Ed.

In the end, he didn't find him outside. He found him on the back of the stage, in the company of two dead men. There was blood on his suit and on his hands and even a red smudge on one of the lenses of his glasses. The bodies at his feet had been rendered almost unrecognisable by the myriad of deep gashes someone had cut across their chest, limbs and faces.  

Ed opened his mouth to say something, but his voice wouldn't come out. As if pulled by invisible strings, they moved towards each other meeting halfway. Oswald wrapped his arms tight around him, keeping him close, keeping him safe in silent atonement for having broken a promise made just moments before. For a long while he didn't speak, nor did Ed, who buried his face in the crook of his neck. Oswald could feel his shaky breathing against his own skin, his heart pounding in his chest.

"They had no right to do this to you, Oswald," he murmured against his shoulder after what felt like ages of silence, broken only by the voices coming from outside the building. "You have to make them pay."

"I already have," he whispered back in a soft tone that he hoped would sound soothing at the other man's ears. "They're dead...except for their leader. My men are still looking for him."

Ed raised his head a little. Oswald's heart skipped a beat when he met his gaze, fearing that he'd turn his back to him, now, that his mouth would twist into a despised grimace for the king who hadn't even been able to protect his people. But he didn't. He didn't take a single step back, their chests still so close they were almost touching. Oswald had to tilt his own head up to keep staring at him in the eyes. _Damn, had he always been so tall?_

"When you find him...tell me what you'll do to him."

Oswald blinked, looking for the right words to describe the painful fate he couldn't wait to inflict on the man. "I'll make him kneel before me. I'll let him beg and cry and only when he'll be too exhausted to keep pleading for his life, only then I will kill him. Or maybe not...not just yet. I'll let him _think_ he's forgiven before starting with the real punishment. I'll start with his fingers. I'd let you watch...would you like that?"

"Oh, I'd _love_ that."

Oswald had no trouble believing in the truth of his statement. Ed's voice was deeper, now, his eyes looked even darker behind the frame of his glasses. They almost glinted in the half-darkness, in the same way they did back then in the woods as Oswald told him how he had killed his disrespectful underling.

He went on. "I'll carve my name on his chest, slowly, letter after bloody letter until he's left shaking and twisting in pain. Until he doesn't have the strength to scream and beg anymore."

Gruesome image after gruesome image spilled from his lips. Oswald found himself conjuring the most disgusting, violent details only for Ed's pleasure and his pleasure alone. And maybe even a bit for himself; there was something cathartic in planning his vengeance out loud, feeding his own ego with fantasies of revenge he couldn't wait to enact. He could have gone on for hours if, all of a sudden, Ed hadn't placed a hand on his cheek and leaned down to kiss him.

When his lips brushed against Ed's, Oswald's brain short-circuited. It took him entirely too long to come back to himself, to process what was happening and respond accordingly. Which, in this case, meant grabbing a fistful of Ed's hair and pulling him closer still, to have better access to his mouth. It was messy. They both tasted of blood and alcohol, and neither of them seemed to have that much experience in the matter, to begin with. First there was too much teeth, then too much grabbing at each other clothes when they realised they didn't know what to do with their hands, but Oswald couldn't bring himself to care. The only thing he cared about was how this terrible, brilliant man was kissing him like his life depended on it, despite how difficult breathing became with every kiss they exchanged.

"We'll make a spectacular example of him," Ed whispered between kisses. "The best masterpiece this city has ever seen, to remind everyone what happens to people who cross the Penguin."

"Yes," Oswald breathed out, gazing at the other man through half-lidded eyes, lips still so damn close to Ed's that he couldn't help but pull him down for another kiss, letting whatever else he was trying to say die in his throat and be replaced by a low moan. "Yes, yes--"

He didn't know then 'yes, we'll show them' became 'yes, please, don't stop', but Ed seemed to take the hint, moving down to leave a trail of warm kisses along his jaw and then down, following the curve of his throat. Oswald's hands found the lapels of his suit jacket and he was instantly torn between ripping it off of his shoulders or allowing himself the pleasure of pulling it down inch after torturous inch until he was finally able to get at the white shirt underneath.

The sound of Ed's voice spared him from wasting any more time trying to find an answer to his dilemma. "Maybe we should-- Somewhere more private, perhaps?"

All of his usual eloquence forgotten, Oswald ended up stumbling around the words. "Yes, of course! You're-- you're absolutely right! I, uhm, have room in the back."

"Lead the way, Mr. Penguin."

The way he spoke his nickname promised oh, such wonderful and terrible things. Oswald took Ed's hand in his own. He wouldn't dream of making him wait one second more.

 

 

 

                                                                                       *

 

 

 

Oswald read the note that had been left on his desk for the second time.

 

_I am offered to loved ones as a show of affection, to celebrate milestones and anniversaries. They say good people find more happiness in giving me than in receiving me. What am I?  
If you think you've got the answer, meet me at the docks at 10 PM, tonight._

It wasn't signed, not that there was any need to.

It wasn't the riddle that puzzled him, no - it wasn't nearly as complex as the ones the infamous Riddler left on the scenes of his crimes in lieu of a proper signature, so much as why Ed had felt the need to reach out to him in such a bizarre fashion. Especially after he had become something of a regular at the renovated Lounge, even persuading him to ignore some of his wealthiest guests in favour of having a drink and a chat with him in Oswald's own private booth. Sometimes Ed would even stay around after closing time, and then they would have all the time in the world to...well, enough of that! No use in daydreaming about _that kind_ of things now, as pleasant as it might be. In any case, his curiosity had been piqued, so he decided to postpone any plans he had made for the evening and indulge Ed in that little game of his.

He arrived at the docks at 10 PM sharp, leaving the car and two of his men behind with the instruction of stepping in, in case tings started to go south. One could never be too careful.

By the time he reached the meeting spot, Ed was already waiting for him.

"Have you solved the riddle?" He asked, not even bothering with a greeting.

Oswald noticed he was wearing a new green suit, probably a side-effect of that one time he had casually mentioned how the colour made for a nice contrast with his brown eyes, after having had a little too much to drink. He fought back a smile at the memory.

"It's a present."

"Correct, as always," Ed praised him, grin wide on his lips but still not offering any explanation.

Oswald pressed on. "Care to elaborate, now?"

"Follow me," was the simple response.

Oswald cast one last glance over his shoulder, nodding to his henchmen to assure them he had everything under control, before complying with his request. He fell into step with Ed, letting him lead him towards whatever mysterious place he had planned to take him to. They walked through the docks, with the boats and cargos anchored at the pier turning into dark silhouettes around them, until they reached one of the many abandoned warehouses that littered the area around the pier. Ed quickened his pace for the last few steps, coming to a halt on the entrance and turning around to face him, so that his body obscured whatever was waiting for him on the inside.

"You've done so much for me, Oswald," he began. "I feel like no matter what I do for you, it will never be enough to repay you for your kindness, your advice and your support."

Oswald rolled his eyes. He opened his mouth to reply, to tell him for the thousandth time that leading such a promising, brilliant man through the darkest corners of Gotham's underworld had been _his_ pleasure, really, but Ed interrupted him before he could say anything.

"Please, let me finish! As I was saying...No matter how hard I tried, how much time I spent thinking about it, I couldn't come up with a way to return the favour. What could I gift to a man who has everything? But then I found something I'm sure you'll appreciate. A small token of my gratitude."

He stepped aside, then, and Oswald was finally able to see what was on the inside of the warehouse. Illuminated only by a couple of small spotlights that seemed to have been placed there for precisely that purpose, was a scruffy-looking man with his hands tied together and chained to the ceiling. His mouth was taped shut, but his eyes were blown wide in fear. They kept darting from Oswald to Ed, then back to Oswald.

"Ed, I...I don't think I understand."

Sensing his confusion, Ed hurried over in front of him.

"This," he said, presenting the man to him as a magician would present his next amazing number to a cheering audience. "Is Mr. Hugh Valentine, former leader of a street gang known as 'The Hunters'. He also happens to be the mind behind the attack at the Iceberg Lounge."

Oswald's eyes widened. Zsasz and his girls had spent weeks trying to track him down, following lead after lead only to find him always one step ahead, hiding just out of reach. He had even swallowed his pride and showed up at the GCPD in the hopes Jim Gordon would agree to lend him a hand in the name of their old friendship. All for nothing.

"How did you--"

"Find him? It has been easy enough, really. His last hideout was full of evidence pointing to a network of safe houses he and his gang had set up in case they ended up attracting the police's attention. Your Victor Zsasz is an excellent marksman, but he lacks spirit of observation. That's more my field of expertise, if I can say so myself."

Oswald approached the man, who thrashed and squirmed against his restrains with every step he took towards him. When he looked at him in the eyes, images of the opening night ran through his mind. The overwhelming fury he had felt staring at the destruction of his latest, more ambitious accomplishment came back full force, to the point that his fingers tightened so hard around the silver handle of his cane it almost hurt. Only Ed's voice was able to bring him back to reality. Just one or two seconds more and Oswald would have ended up strangling the man with his own bare hands, then no doubt regretting it when he would have remembered countless slower, more satisfying ways to ensure the poor bastard's demise.

"Oops, I was almost forgetting!" With another theatrical gesture he produced a long knife from his suit jacket, twirled it in his hand and offered it to Oswald, handle first. "For you."

Oswald took it in his free hand, still incredulous as to how and when and why Ed had put so much effort in hunting down the source of all of his most recent troubles and present it to him as some sort of token of their newfound alliance. A present. He struggled to remember the last time someone had offered him a present. He would have had to go back in his memory to the early days of his career, when Fish Mooney had given him his first clean-cut black suit along with his first blade, encouraging him to plunge it into the body of an unfortunate snitch who had made the grievous mistake of disappointing her. And even then, she had had her own egoistical reasons for doing so. This was different. It was selfless.

"Thank you, Ed," he said, well aware that no amount of 'thank you's could ever convey how moved he felt by his gesture.

Ed landed a hand on the captive man's shoulder, the grim mockery of a friendly gesture. "You see, Hugh, this man right here once taught me the importance of respect. Awe and respect is what makes him the king of this city, after all. And I believe what you did to him wasn't very respectful, was it?"

"On the contrary, it was very disrespectful," Oswald agreed.

Ed grinned up at him. "Now, I remember you telling me you had some ideas on how to punish our dear guest for his offence, if I'm not mistaken."

"Oh, I do," Oswald smiled, relishing in the sound of the muffled pleads for mercy when he dragged the blade of the knife along the underside of his jaw, ever-so slowly. He forced him to tilt his chin up with the sharp point of the weapon. "And I would advise you to take a couple of steps back, now. You don't want to ruin that beautiful suit when things get messy."

"It doesn't matter, I can always buy a new one."

Oswald turned his head to look at him. Ed's eyes were fixed on him, burning with that childlike glimmer that was so at odds with the kind of vicious acts it took to bring it out. His breathing was uneven, the tell-tale sign that he was as excited as him as the prospect of what was to come. Maybe more. He had to fight back the urge to walk over to him and kiss him hard and deep. No, there would be plenty of time for that after they were done with Valentine, both blood-stained and high on adrenaline.

They exchanged a look, mischief shining in their eyes.

"What do you say, my dear Ed? Shall we get to work?"

 

 

 


End file.
